Deserts of Kharak: Desertmartin
by Solarfish
Summary: Desertmartin. The word inspires mixed feelings from both sides of the war. A rough group of individuals that cause all sorts of chaos and uproar. They also are one of the most elite fighting forces the Northern Coalition can field. They also seemed to have picked up a mascot. An unwilling mascot. She bites.
1. I always wanted a pet

Disclaimer:

I have wet dreams about owning all these dank memez. But I don't. So I shall sit here and wallow in my self-pity. Which produced this, which is nice...

A/N: So, heavy Kudos to EarthBorn93 for unwittingly kick-starting this badboy off. On another note, I realise posting your first story in one of the lesser known fandoms isn't... productive in terms of reviews and help with writing and all that but as the saying goes: you reap what you sow.

Technical stuff is at the end, for those that are interested. Rant free of charge.

Commander Hillivan Manaan flinched.

The confined space reverberated with another 'ptang' louder than normal conversation. There was a short pause then another pierced his brain. His eyes opened and glued themselves to his furling and unfurling hand. Watching his own fingers dance like small sand-eddies before a sandstorm.

Ptang. There was a fuzzy ringing now sitting just inside his ears.

Ptang. Hillivan gave up. He reached over and using handholds, swung himself over to Zoltan's gunnery station. From his reclining in the command chair. Using the passive scanners he eyeballed the nearby dunes still swiping sleep from his eyes. There were three tan-clad figures sitting just under the crest of the nearest dune, shadows casting long lines down its sandy face.

One of the figures had his standard six-shooter out and was aiming it at the "Idiosyncratic". Right at the bow-plate. There was a muted pop then the ringing 'ptang' echoed around the interior of Hillivan's own Armored Assault Vehicle. The figure bent his arm and with a fluid movement, put in a new ammo drum. He cocked the hammer with a hopelessly exaggerated movement and took a slow aim.

Hillivan's hand was quicker. With an ease born from years of practice, he flicked the arming switch, activated the traverse mechanism and aimed the massive tank's ChemRec 50mm Chaingun at them. The figures reacted instantly.

They leapt down the dune, one leap travelling massive downhill distance. The scrambled for cover from the beast of a weapon. Hillivan chuckled darkly and flicked on exterior speakers.

"It's only fair I get shots off, Zoltan my friend. Stand still while I shoot your helmet off!" The figure with the handgun paused and stopping mid-dash, roared with laughter. He then holstered the six-shooter and spread his hands, as if waiting for the gun to fire. Hillivan's ire eased at the laughter. They meant well. They were all Manaan, it was in their very Kiith to find the humor in it all. But waking a superior with small arms fire was... borderline.

"Breaks over. We ride the sands, brothers." Hillivan eased out of the gunnery station and reset the controls, hanging on a hand and foot from the handholds. The gun swung forward and locked. The belts disconnected and the screens dimmed. The side hatch opened with the tell tale clunk-click that they couldn't seem to get rid of no matter how many times they rebuilt the door mechanism and Hillivan's crew slunk in. Dirnkik was first, long scruffy hair over a hawkish face, and he settled into the navigation seat. Their driver, Konran came in with a nervous shuffle. He was always nervous when not in command of some form of treads or tyres. He had a young face that women seemed to love. Then Zoltan slunk in. Whip thin and all elbows and knees, he gave a dopey grin before whipping to perfect parade ground attention.

"Senior Sandman Zolran reporting for duty, Sir!" His voice sounded like he was always laughing at something. Konran, seated and in the process of turning the engine, rolled his eyes.

"Stop acting the fool, Zoltan. Its unbecoming."

Zoltan's parade perfection melted as he shot Konran a glare.

"Who asked you, mate?" His voice still chuckled.

"Zoltan! Konran! Shut up. Take us away, Konran. I want to be sipping caati juice with the Admiral by sundown... don't make me unhappy." Hillivan growled as he maneuvered into the commander's chair. The fusion powercell whined and the treads kicked sand as their tank lurched out of a shallow dip in a row of dunes. The sun making the tan and grey vehicle blend in with the ever-present desert sands.

"Man, why you have to always throw the sand at us!?" Konan gave in a whiney tone.

"Nav! Who amongst us are the two bitchiest crew members?" Hillivan barked, eyes not moving from their vigilant scrutiny of their surroundings. There where Gaalsien behind every dune. Usually.

Dirnkik didn't look up from the map-screen, busy plotting the path least susceptible to ambush through the last of the Dune sea before they hit the flats around Base Omega.

"Able Sandman Konran and Senior Sandman Zoltan, Commander." His voice was preoccupied and deft fingers where working a keypad. He was also their mechanic, if push came to shove.

Hillivan gave a chuckle.

"How much further 'til the bom?" Hillivan quickly looked up at the mean temperature for today. It was bordering on mid-fifties. The base was affectionately called "The Bom". 'B' from Base, 'OM' from Omega. It was strictly local vernacular.

"We got maybe one twenty clicks as the LAV flies, but more if we wanna skirt a warning marker left yestersay." Dirnkik looked up at Hillivan still peering at a screen he was dragging in almost a two hundred and seventy degree arc. Every few swings he'd shift and peer off their stern quarter.

"We'll skirt. No sense in making a nuisance of ourselves." Hillivan responded, eyes flicking to Dirnkik as he scanned past. The man nodded and went to work. Konran adjusted the drive and the treads smooth swishing intensified and was broken by an infrequent clack as it ate or crushed the almost chalky rock.

The crew descended into companionable silence, broken by the odd narration by Zoltan.

Kiith Manaan, a relatively small Kiith due to its nature, was not a powerful one in the sense of Sobanii military might, or S'jet resources, but it was filled, to bursting point of unique and quirky individuals.

Take the inhabitants of the lone AAV for example. Zoltan was... well, Zoltan was Zoltan. Konran was a professional racer. He used to frequent the Dunerunner circuit before he volunteered. Dirnkik was an architect, part of the team that had once designed buildings in the polar city of Orison. He had more buildings to his name than what could be found in the entirety of The Bom's walls. Hillivan was a military man. Then used as hired muscle to one of the many gypsy convoys that dotted the desert. He went back into service well before this whole Unification incident. Specialised in AVAT, shipped out to The Bom, and the rest, as they say, is sand on the wind.

In war, Manaan took its few men and like the artists they are, trained in their aspect of war until it was but another work of art...

As Chiitch'all S'jet once said; "The only problem with the Manaan Soldier is that there are never enough of them."

The silent tank interior was broken.

"Contact. Ten past two. Bearing three one three. Either Armor or a pack of skimmers." Dirnkik tapped a few buttons and a graphic overlay appeared in the bottom left corner of Hillivan's command screen. They were closing fast.

"Clear. Zoltan, rounds hot. Konran, plates down, see if you can skirt the dune to our left. I want range on these suckers." The tank shuddered as the driver's viewport slammed closed and the ammo belts rammed home on the main gun almost simultaneously.

"Bravo Oscar, Bravo Oscar, this is Delta Mike zero one, I have Gaalsien contacts on my position, I repeat, enemy contacts just south of Yootan ridge, over." Hillivan was all business.

"This is Bravo Oscar Charlie one, we read you. Estimate number of contacts, Delta Mike. Over." Hillivan gave a small sigh of relief at being in range, and looked at a composed Dirnkik. He held up two fingers still staring at the scene unfold on his screen.

Zoltan swore loudly.

"Delta Mike to Bravo Oscar. Two wings of swarmers or a deuce of Assault craft. Speed is between the two right now, Over." There was a pause as Hillivan flicked to the intercom.

"Looks like swarmers from dust kickup. Zoltan, put lead down range."

The man just nodded and with a grin and sweeped the crest of the dune the sandskimmers where going to appear over. They were maybe a klick from the Flats, where the heavily armoured AAV held every advantage.

"Through the feed, and past the guns, look out Floats, here it comes..." the tank shook. It shook as 50mm High Explosive cannon shells where spat out at a rate of one hundred and twenty rounds per minute. Two shells ripped the dune crest apart every second.

The leading Sandskimmer didn't even see the coalition tank that ripped it in half. A half a meter of sand provided the resistance to set a shell off as it passed, forming a crude shape-charge as it exited the dune on the other side. No Sandskimmer could have survived the blast that melted its way through the gunpod into the ammo racks, and out the top of the hover-vehicle. This one didn't either.

The rest ramped into the air, thinking easy prey of a lone AAV. Two more gutted skimmers hit the sand before they realised their pray wasn't where it was meant to be, and it was well aware of its predators.

Within seconds, prey had become predator.

Zoltan let out a loud whoop as the AAV shook and shuddered with the buzzing 'dakka-dakka-dakka' of the main gun. It was just a matter of sweeping it nice and wide and catching as many as possible before they spread out.

The Gaalsien Sandskimmers buzzed like angry wasps as they finally spread and let loose with their gatling guns. It sounded like rain against the hull in the silence of the AAV reloading its main gun.

"This is a laugh... AP on the way!" Zoltan shouted triumphantly as the gun spooled and roared in much shorter bursts. Each burst was capable of ending in another skimmer burning. They wizened up, and began making life difficult by crawling up the sides of both dunes and tried to swarm the skimmer-killer. With four years of fringe experience and countless engagements under the belt, the skimmers had no idea what they had committed to.

That kind of mistake was made only once.

But ten to one where good odds if there ever was such a thing.

"We got damage to rear suspension, left side. Powercell coolant is losing pressure." Konran yelled over the "dakka-dakka" of the main gun.

"We'll make it." Hillivan's voice carried astounding levels of certainty. Something went 'twang' towards the rear of the tank. He looked even more certain.

Dirnkik eyed his commander and wondered if he was in denial and had finally lost it. There where rounds buzzing around the AAV like a swarm of Water-hornets and dust spouted like small volcanoes as errant rounds impacted on dirt around the tank.

It was round about this time that four of the remaining five skimmers cease to exist. Six missiles turned the dune they were harassing the lone AAV on into one long fireball and Gaalsien bits rained down on the two remaining vehicles.

One versus one where not favorable odds in any light.

Two bursts of Armor Piercing rounds later, the crew relaxed into a state just slightly above hyper aware.

"This is Boneman zero five. You're welcome, over." Dirnkik looked up at Hillivan calmly staring at his screens like they would wiggle away if he didn't and yet again, like countless times before, wondered:

How does he do it?

"Ever thankful, Boneman zero five. We owe you a cold one. Delta Mike zero one over and out." They watched the three strike fighters curve away and head in a different direction. Most probably tasked with helping another patrol or other sighting.

They stopped to at least patch the coolant leak, and treated it like an ambush waiting to happen. They stopped just off the crest of the last dune before the flats, shut down all the systems, donned softsuits and attached clip-on armour. Hillivan and Zoltan trudged up the dune and provided overwatch, rifles tracking dunetops and the odd valley. Dirnkik was chest deep into an access panel on the bottom of the tank just in front of the rear track-arches. There was muffled swearing. Konran sat nervously in the gunnery seat in the "Idiosyncratic".

"How's it looking, Dirnkik?" Hillivan called out over his shoulder, a scoped rifle checking to see if any Gaalsien survivors stumbled from the still smoking hell a few dunes away.

"I can fix it... but this Sajuuk-damned piece of work decided to get damaged on the inside edge of the vacuum chambers... sir. Give me half an hour, brother." Zoltan gave a small chuckle, and shifted to cover a different approach.

-0-

Hillivan's radio sparked to life.

"Sir, we got two incoming." Konran seemed relatively calm. Must be from the flats then.

Zoltan shot Hillivan a look. Then went and scrambled for the side hatch of the AAV.

"Zoltan's on it. Sit tight and wait for Dirnkik's signal." Movement caught his eye. Turning slowly to make sure he didn't draw attention, he watched the lone figure stumble over a ridge maybe two dunes from Hillivan, in the direction they'd came from.

They move fast.

They always did move fast.

Hillivan line up his scope and peered through. The figure was in a mixture of a robe and a flight suit. An ominous masked could be seen below a large hood keeping the Kushan Sun at bay. It moved in a long, rolling gait that seemed to eat more distance than it should. But even then, it was clear the figure was struggling. It disappeared behind a hump in an intervening dune, then reappeared much closer... another whole dune closer.

It hit him.

The figure was following the two massive tracks left in the sand. It was a risky choice. Between survival and capture by the enemy. And even then both where maybes at best in their outcomes...

Leaving someone to die in the desert never sat well with Hillivan. It was the worst. The unbearable heat, then hallucinations, then disbelief as your body betrayed you... then it was the cracked mouths and throat... then collapse where there would be this period of lucidity, just to contemplate your situation in a large, empty desert.

Bodies where rarely found, and if so, treated with utmost respect. They were handed over to the respective Kiith regardless of any wars, fights or feuds. A Kushan lost to the sands was always a reminder that this world was still their harsh mistress.

"This is Hillivan. I'm gonna retrieve a survivor. No visible weapons. What's the eta on those LAV's?"

"'Bout two minutes, boss. Should I cover?" Hillivan watch the figure drop to a knee and sink into the sand.

"No, just let the LAV's know we are friendly and I'll be back soon." He stood up and keeping an eye on the figure through the scope, made his way down the dune on the opposite side of the Idiosyncratic. The figure took a few seconds before spotting him. Then proceeded to meet Hillivan halfway. Hands where outstretched, a symbolism for 'temporary treaty'. Hillivan relaxed, but kept his rifle on the figure. The pride of your Kiith lay in the ancient symbolism and it was never, ever broken.

"Stop there." The figure did. Hillivan stepped onto the lowest part of the valley and circled the... it was impossible to see if if was man or woman beneath the loose desert robes.

Hillivan was a hairs breadth away from springing into action if it was a trap.

"Are you alone?" The figure visibly tensed before folding in on itself.

"There... where none to continue honouring the Kiith." Hillivan felt guilty at feeling nothing but smug confidence in his crew's abilities. The voice was soft and high. A woman.

"Come. We'll take you to water and shade." The woman nodded and followed Hillivan's steps in the sand up the dune. He blinked. These people really where desert-smart. As he walked up, he noticed how her feet seemed to sink considerably less than his own. Maybe it was the way their boots where designed? Floats in their boots seemed ludicrous though.

The woman froze as her head broke the dune's silhouette. A rifle was all but resting between her eyes.

"Zoltan... stand the fuck down." There was a silence.

"Name, rank, unit." Oh. The LAV's.

"Hillivan Manaan. Commander of the 707th, long range desert group. Stand down, soldier." The rifle was lowered slowly. Hillivan's gaze swept from the two men in full combat fatigues to the Gaalsien.

"And the float, sir?" The soldier turned on the rifles safety. The Gaalsien stepped onto the crest with the rest of them and stood almost a full head taller than the two soldiers. One took a subconscious step back. Hillivan, in turn, stood a shade higher than the Gaalsien.

"Oh, you know, just decided to get myself a souvenir." There was silence.

"Oh, come on. No sense of humor you Nabaals." They just stared.

"Fine. Survivor. There! Happy?" They nodded almost in sync and about-faced. They were clambering into their LAV's by the time the Gaalsien spoke again.

"Is that what I am, Commander? A trinket? An amusement?" There was a tight edge to the voice no amount of filters could dissipate.

"...no, just took the Sajuuk-damned Nabaals for shits... they have permanent suspension rods up their asses." There was a small snicking noise from the Gaalsien. It could have been a chuckle, laughter or a series of curses.

"I have never had the honor of meeting a member of Kiith Manaan before, Commander. I am forever in your debt." Hillivan shrugged and motioned to the AAV.

"I didn't know you were in that desperate need for humor." There was a choking noise.

"Sir. For saving my life." Hillivan turned to face the tall woman. Humor danced in grey and green eyes.

"Ahhh, but you now ride in a Mananoi Vehicle. It is a dubious gift!" The woman tilted her head.

"You... you mean the rumors are true!?" Her voice colored with a tint of apprehension. Hillivan gave another evasive shrug.

"I don't care to listen to rumors. I am but a simple flotilla commander, miss."

He motioned for her to get in the AAV. She turned her mask to him, then pointedly to the front bow-plate.

"Never strung your victim's desecrated bodies to your ship with razorwire?" Hillivan gave her an unreadable look.

"It's a nightmare to wash off if it bakes in, though." He said, voice straight. She shuddered.

He smiled and shook his head.

"We don't even have razorwire. No, miss. We are not barbarians." Hillivan was certain the quick look at him was a hot glare.

"Ass."

As she swung herself inside, there was the sound of three safeties disengaging.

"We might laugh and be merry, but we are not stupid. Hand it over." She whipped around to look at an ever calm Hillivan barring the hatch.

She gave a low growl and reached between her legs...

And removed a five inch hunting knife from her thigh. She turned to go sit on one of the bunks.

"Uh uhhh, and the other." She shot him another, what he guessed was a death glare, and removed another knife from inside her right boot. She gave a sigh and turned to go... only for a hand to halt her. She became rigid as a hand reached into her robe. She bit back a series of curses. The hand retreated quickly, holding a small standoff handgun.

"Who are you people!?" She screamed as she removed her helmet.

"We are people who just do our best at surviving." Hillivan easily replied as the rest of the crew fell in station.

Hillivan studied her. She was... pretty. She seemed delicate but the clenching of her jaw and the fire in her sky blue eyes spoke of strength. Her dark hair was plastered to her forehead as she glared absolute daggers at Hillivan.

"Oh, come now. Just because we denied you your escape, doesn't mean we aren't reasonable." Hillivan started in conversational tones, as he swung into the commander's chair.

"And you can rest on my bunk. Water is in the canteen over there... don't make trouble please. I hoped to save a life." His voice was light, joking even, but the woman saw that Hillivan wouldn't hesitate to actually end her.

She grit her teeth but her parched throat won out. As she supped small sips of clear, near iced water, Hillivan broke the banter filled exchanges on the radio with their escort and spoke to her.

"Do you have a name, miss?" She was staring off at a screen and didn't seem to be paying too much attention.

"Kristaan Gaalsien'Sa'Ka..." she froze. Everyone in the AAV went entirely rigid. The only person not staring at her with Baserunner wheel sized eyes was the driver. And he was sorely wanting to.

Kristaan was cursing herself in every language, style and dialect she knew.

Gaalsien'Sa'Ka. Direct family of the leader of the entire Kiith.

"You related to ol' K'had!?" Zoltan piped up. She winced. Yes, she most definitely was... even if everyone involved wished otherwise.

"You must be his second daughter. The other is some commadore or something." Dirnkik stated, making a very astute observation, with nothing but shady intelligence reports to go on.

But her eyes were glued on Hillivan's face. His eyes where now narrowed and she could see the gears in his whirl and grind... she was suddenly very afraid of those gears. She saw the cunning dance in those eyes hand in hand with the ever present mirth.

His eyes switched focus from something a thousand dunes behind her to... her. The difference nearly made her breath hitch. The gaze was stern, but held such sympathy, and understanding...

'He couldn't know... it's not possible... he couldn't. Could he?' And Kristaan began to suffer a mild panic attack on a bunk as they drove through the desert.

"Sir. What are we going to tell the Admiral?" Dirnkik finally spoke up as the base came into view. Konran and Zoltan both cocked an ear.

"... Nothing. We keep this between ourselves." The inhabitants of the AAV whirled on their superior.

"The fuck? Why, by the great Sajuuk's hairy balls would we do that!?" Zoltan burst out.

"Sir... all due respect, but: Zoltan's right. Are you fucking Suntouched, Hillivan!?" Dirnkik shouted, twisting around in the Navigation seat.

Konran held his silence but slowed down suddenly.

"Kanker one one to Delta Mike... why you slow down, over." Before any could think of a reason or suitable reply, Konran snapped out a terse "Suspension is acting up." And glared at the occupants.

"Sort this out. Explain, sir." Konran went back to driving.

Hillivan sighed.

"Hear me out. Okay? No interruptions." He eyed everyone until they gave their grumbled consent. Kristaan just gave a stiff, awed nod.

"I am a commander. I am responsible for all you. For all of us, every single Martin. It is my job to ensure we live as long as possible. High Command, as much as I love them, are riddled with spies." He gave a questing look at Kristaan. She nodded.

"And the last thing we want is old K'had to know that we have his precious daughter. We will be acclaimed at bringing this valuable target in, highlighting us as the reason the Gaalsien'Sa is without a full family. He will have a carrier group for every person on the 707th assigned to our destruction. We are a ghost group. We don't exist. I want to keep it that way." He gave a look at Kristaan.

"And pretty women have a nasty habit of being raped as interrogation in our esteemed Information Corps. It would instigate a feud so big that we'll either have to physically exterminate the entirety of Kiith Gaalsien or suffer thousands of years of hostilities... does any of this not make sense?"

There was awed silence.

'This man... thought of all that in that instant?' Then there was the look he shot her.

"We'll make it seem like the group of sandskimmers engaged with the utmost of bravery and inflicted heavy casualties before dying to the man... maybe we can give Kristaan here a good account of herself before she 'died'. Maybe it will appease the great K'had Sajuuk..."

He knew. He had taken one look at her, and had figured her out. He had seemingly looked into her soul and dug up her deepest fears...

He winked at her.

She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"What does it feel like to be dead, Miss Kristaan?" All those fears... doubts... snide comments around the dinner table every time they came together... the pitying sister... the hungry looks... all that and they couldn't touch her if she was dead.

"It feels... liberating." She gave him a measured look.

"I still think you are an ass though." The AAV shook with laughter.

-0-

"Delta Mike zero one to Bravo Oscar Charlie one, we're approaching entrance three, over."

"Copy, Delta Mike. Standby."

"Hows the Admiral today?"

"Delta Mike zero one cleared for entry zero three. She's currently in a meeting with the REMF from Tiir. Something about ordinance discrepancies. You going to stick your dick in that?" The operator sounded morbidly curious.

Every operator knew the callsign Delta Mike and the Admiral went hand in hand.

"Indeed. See if you can find me someone who knows where she is. Delta Mike zero one cleared doors. Parking request at Fridge, over."

"Closing doors. P-Req denied. You using the AVB I'm afraid. You in luck, Delta. She's in the main conference room for the bigwigs. Heard her castrate someone on my way to tower. Over"

"Thanks, Delta Mike zero one, over and out." Hillivan looked down and stared at his crew plus one.

"I'm going to be gone for maybe twenty minutes. Keep her clean, see if you can fix that suspension by the time I'm back." He turned to plus one.

"Change onto one of my spare fatigues. They might even fit you. You are a expert on float-tech we picked up and shipping out if anyone asks. You are fluent in floaty bits, right?" Kristaan remembered sleepless nights fixing her skimmer and the countless hours spent as a temporary mechanic. She gave an insulted nod.

"And please for the love of Sajuuk, please don't respond to any questions as thoughtlessly as before..." He looked around. Everyone was busy. There was an awkward moment when Kristaan had to strip down to her vapor vest and underwear, but the crew turned a very blind eye in respect.

Because of his position in the commander's chair, Hillivan now knew she had a frankly superb ass.

When she was done, she folded her clothes and glared at the crew, daring them to so much as glance lower.

Deep down she expected the lewd looks... it came with the territory. After commanding a wing of skimmers for almost two months, she saw the hunger... the distain.

And here they were giving her a mixture of confused and appreciative looks.

She scowled and looked away, sitting with knees pulled to her chest and boots ready to put on at the foot of the bench/bed/food and water storage.

"I'm going topside. Kristaan, sit here until Dirnkik says otherwise." She looked up and sure enough he was opening the top hatch. She stared at the commander's chair as if it would bite her.

She tentatively moved into the chair. The screen layout was generally similar. It was less cluttered than the standard Sandskimmer. And she was looking at enemy intelligence most would die to get. Sensor ranges, gun elevation limitations, pitch, roll and yaw parameters... she looked around bewildered. Why where they letting her see all this... why where they so trusting after knowing she planned on at least maiming several of them...

"Why we trusting you?" She looked up and squinting into the blinding light of the open hatch. Hillivan was leaning over the opening.

She gave a tentative nod.

"Yeah, I mean, I could take control and wreak havoc before you kill me... or I could send the details to an agent or..." she looked at his calmly smile face and halted.

"You thought of all that, haven't you?" He nodded, delighted.

"And you've made sure I can't?" Hillivan shook his head enthusiastically.

"No, 'cause I see it like this: you can live, and not do those things, being a local hero for your people, or you could send information to your... beloved father," There was a pause just long enough to tell her all she needed to know. He definitely knew, "and be known as a turncoat who now works for the enemy and is trying to placate her father with paltry gifts of knowledge that he already knows." She paused.

Hillivan leaned away and began shouting something to a few deckhands that where in the repair bay.

She looked at the tall man with a scruffy bed of black hair and the vestiges of a beard. And as she watched him gesture wildly while regaling a tall story, she wondered how dangerous this man was.

"Don't let it get to you. We can't figure it out either." She became slightly aggravated that this crew seemed to be filled with people who could predict what she was thinking.

She looked to the side at the Navigator, Dirnkik. Her boss for the time being. He had a knowing smirk.

She just let out a sigh that was almost more growl than sigh.

"Why he's such an ass, you mean?" She snarled spitefully. She wasn't going to forget the pistol incident.

'No one... and I mean no one, gets inside my uniform without my permission!'

Konran stopped the tank with the clatter of tracks on reinforced concrete. She looked around withe passive sensors and frowned. It had definitely not been her imagination.

"Why is your AAV different?" She blurted out as she scanned the just as confused mechanics staring at the new tank. So it wasn't just her.

The three men grinned.

"We're Kiith Manaan." They said in perfect unison. As if it explained everything.

"Look at their Sobanii pattern AAV's. It's pathetic! No Navigator/mechanic. Their gun may look bigger but it shoots thirty five mil rounds in much quicker bursts. We've got a fifty mil. Okay sure, so we got more vulnerable tracks, but everything else we smash them... The only reason this isn't standard is politics and elitism. Kiith Sobaan likes to think they make better stuff because they bigger? Sure, okay. We just keep our own Manaan pattern vehicles to ourselves now." Dirnkik sounded... bemused. Like facing a stubborn child.

She looked up to find Hillivan gone.

"Okay. So Dirnkik, you fixing Idio', Konran, you can keep an eye on Princess here, and I'm gonna see if I can find us some caati juice." And with that, Zoltan literally leapt from the Gunnery station, caught a handhold, swung himself with the momentum, and disappeared out the side hatch. His feet didn't touch anything until he was outside. Kristaan blinked.

These where some estranged individuals. But they must harmonize wonderfully for them... to...

Images of burning wrecks and screaming shells filled her mind. She sighed and got up. Her wing had been on probing patrols for weeks, and now after all that... after nearly getting killed and in the midst of the... enemy? She had her first chance to sleep. The bunk she had put her clothes on called to her. Her head hit the hard pillow and after a few minutes listening to the yelling of overworked dockhands and the screaming, grinding and banging of their tools, all the fatigue she had been shoving to the side stole up and claimed her consciousness.

-0-

Hillivan could hear the Admiral speak to... someone that needed buttering up. Her voice had that honeydew edge that could entrance anyone to get caught listening. She had the figure to captivate as well. But now she would be standing next to a projector, datapad in hand calmly telling civvies how they can't just simply tell her how to do her job. She would be polite, and refrained... but Sajuuk have mercy on the first to imply she couldn't do her just because she had a pair of smashing tits and a body that goddesses drooled over.

Hillivan eyed the secretary. She gave him a resigned look. She knew him. He ignored her enough times for it to sink in. He came to visit, he disappeared with the Admiral, he left, she came out screaming blue murder.

The secretary already looked prepped for the Holocaust Hillivan would no doubt bring to pass.

He didn't aim to disappoint.

He lifted a reinforced tankers boot and smashed the doors open. The civs jumped out of their chairs and the Admiral looked ready to spit out a sandstorm.

"Darraki! I just got word from the doctors! Its a girl!" Admiral Darraki Somtaaw turned white. The civs gained sandguppy expressions. The Admiral turned a funny shade of caati purple.

Hillivan just looked like some happy father.

"What... you... how..." words failed the Admiral as the civs backed away from the totally apoplectic woman.

"Congratulations! I mean, you going to be a mommy! What will we name her?" Her rusty red hair almost matched face. Her one eyebrow was twitching madly and her hands were shaking.

The Sandguppy expressions vanished into ones of bewildered awe... they saw the impending doom and backed away from the idiot. They had no idea what they were witnessing.

"Can we name-" Darraki whipped out the six-shooter strapped to her hip and held it menacingly.

"I swear to the sandgods, if you so much as breathe another word, Hillivan, I will put a bullet in your knee..." she sounded dead serious.

"Okay. But before you do, can we have some hot steamy congratulation sex against this-" Darraki threw her gun at him.

"You, you Suntouched idiot, have got to shut the fuck up! These are secretarial staff from the Diiamid!"

Hillivan picked himself off the floor where he dodged the flying weapon. He towered over the seated politicians.

"You'll have to excuse me, I was kicked as a child... Commander Hillivan Manaan at your service." Hillivan did an elaborate bow that wasn't out of place at formal Diiamid gatherings.

They stared.

"Excuse us." Admiral Darraki dragged Hillivan out by his collar. He let his feet drag like a puppet with its strings cut. The enraged Admiral didn't even notice. He waved to the stunned secretary.

Two corridors, four gob smacked sentries and a lift later, Hillivan stood in Darraki's office receiving a dressing down heard three corridors away, a floor below and in the officer's mess at the other end of the building.

She moved too close mid rant, and two arms snapped out and brought her in to a tight, firm hug. She stopped mid-word and gave a defeated sigh. After a moment, she leaned in. Hillivan kissed her brow and gave a small chuckle.

"How you been, Darraki?" She wriggled and eventually got her arms out to return the hug.

"This place is filled with incompetents, Hillie... why can't you and the Martins just come back and help us here?" He let out another chuckle.

"That bad? It's only after a particularly harsh month you try and snag us back. We're ghost troops, Darraki. If I help here, I'm on the duty roster. If I'm on the duty roster, then the floats know I'm here. If they know I'm here, my forces are looked for, defeating the point of me being here." He pulled away and looked at her worn face. There were barely there dark lines under her eyes even with makeup and her hair didn't look as full and vibrant as it usually did.

"You need more sleep. Sometimes try not to micro all your subordinates... there's usually one or two competent people that you can leave be..." Darraki gave a small nod and broke the hands on her shoulders. She went around her desk and activated the holo-projector overlay.

"Okay, tell me. What have you lot been doing the past three weeks..." and Darraki sat forward and reveled in the fact that she'll be receiving a nice, comprehensive and unbiased report with outstanding level of attention to detail. Hillivan reached out and began tracing lines through the blue desert hovering over her desk. The lines reached far and wide.

"These are some of the Gaalsien reinforcement routes." His hand darted and tapped out a few dots near or on these lines.

"These are staging depots. The Martins and I have been busy. We've performed surgical hit and run tactics here, here and here... numbers and compositions are as follows..." and Admiral Darraki was captivated as Hillivan discussed and described the opposition.

-0-

She sat back, eyed the now fully marked holo and gave a frustrated huff.

"So to sum this all up, they seemed to have gained a carrier group that is currently floating Sajuuk-knows-where, and just calmly waiting for us to trip over our treads to slake the thirst of the sands with our blood?" Hillivan nodded earnestly.

"And they don't know you know. So I sorta came up with a plan that's so Suntouched, caati driven and barbaric, it has no hope of failing!" Hillivan sat back like an especially pompous Diiamid speaker that had just proven a particularly expensive point. Darraki wasn't amused. She eyed him, then the holo. Then back to him.

"And!?" Hillivan snaped forward.

"Oh! You wanted me to tell you?" She picked up a datapad and threatened to throw it. Hillivan held up placating hands and offered a small peace by working the holoprojector.

"So this is what I'd like to do..."

-0-

Kristaan woke with a start. There was no sound to wake her. No one threatened her. All was silent.

A soft snore rent the black night.

Kristaan threw a look over to the bunk opposite hers. Zoltan was fast asleep, sprawled out over his bunk like a large catfox, shirtless and scratching his abs. She giggled softly. He looked so tame while asleep. The other two bunks also held sleeping form. Sure enough, the one above Zoltan held Konran curled into an impossibly tight and nervous ball. She pulled off her blankets (she knew she didn't fall asleep with them) and peered above her. Dirnkik was snoozing gently in a perfectly straight line, hands behind his hawkish face.

She spotted Hillivan. And he made sleeping on the commander's chair look more comfortable than sleeping on the bunks. Sideways, and with one leg propped on a nearby handhold, he sat with his commander's cap over his eyes and hands resting on his chest. The other leg was on the gunnery seat. The hatch above him was open, revealing crystalline stars blinking in their constellations.

She couldn't go around him due to his leg. And she so badly wanted to see those stars. It was her thing. She watched the stars, questioned her teachings and disappointed her family...

Bootless feet brushed the cool metal floor. Padding over, she used a handhold to see how she could circumvent Hillivan. The weapons systems where one side, and the commanders tactical interface was the other. The only way was either under or over.

The tight squeeze below the commander's cupola wasn't too attractive.

She made up her mind and swung her legs onto a higher hold and reached across. Her fingers missed the rung by maybe five centimeters. She growled. A rung higher, she tried with her foot. She made it. As she slowly shifted her gravity from one foot to the other, she paused to take in her... situation.

She was two centimeters from straddling the commander. Hillivan's face was almost directly in front of her and she admired the view. Now that she got a closer, cleaner look, she could see his finely cut jaw and aristocratic nose. She saw the laugh lines just beginning to form. She saw his serene face and was struck by how... well, how jaw dropping, mouth wateringly handsome he was. He was also taller than even her. That, in itself was worthy of notice.

She slipped past and poked her head out of the hatch. No one. A handful of engineers working on a behemoth of an artillery cruiser on the other side of the vehicles bay on its own quay/gangway.

She moved up, and lay on the turret of the AAV that had claimed so many lives and stared at the stars. They were beautiful. She could make out the catfox, and the giian'opt. She could see the four brothers just beginning to emerge over the sands to the east. She lay on her back and she wondered. Mind lost to the world.

"Pretty, no?"

Kristaan gave the most unladylike squeak of fright of her life.

'Sajuuk but what is this man not good at!?' He was next to her. As in right next to her on the turret on his back looking at the stars. He had been awake.

He had been awake.

She gave a small gasp in mortification. He was awake! He had made her go over him... she had spread her legs over him and all but sat in his lap! She stayed there and ogled him too!

He chuckled. The he turned to look at Kristaan that was by now on her elbows staring at him. He was sure if he could see any better she'd be blushing.

And under the ageless starlight he tuned his head back to Sajuuk's great domain and asked:

"Do you want to talk about it?" The mortification was replaced with wary apprehension.

"About?" Hillivan just gave her what she assumed was a condescending look and sighed.

"What happened? How did you manage to earn your families scorn?" And after a long, long day, Kristaan snapped.

"And what the fuck gives you that idea, you jackass!?" She barked in a low whisper. It was harsh even in her own ears.

"That. That and the way you flinch. The fact that direct family of a Kiith'sa is merely a flight leader of a wing of skimmers. That you were actually willing to die in their eyes just for the small honour it would grant you... if one where to look, really look, it's there. But I pry. If you don't want to talk about it..." the longest of pauses.

"I... I question faith. I look on the holy teachings and still wonder what it's like... up there... I'm hot headed. I get into fights... I don't... fit in well, with other people. I look up too much and ignore those around me in the sand. I... I take Kiith for granted, as my father says." She turned her head, and Hillivan caught himself staring at the deep shadows of where her eyes where to be, expecting to see two sky blue orbs glowing in the night.

"I see. And I share your pain. I too was born in the wrong Kiith." She turned to him.

"Really?" Hillivan nodded.

"I'm S'jet by birth... born to the scientists and the thinkers. My parents both worked on those rockets that caused this blasphemous war. My father is in fact up there right now. One of the small satellites. He passes over in almost twenty minutes." There was a breath.

"I... I had too much of a wandering spirit. I laughed easily and my carefree attitude cost me my education. And in my days as a delinquent, I discovered my knack for the battlefield. Street fights and such. I enrolled. And my jokes ended me in the loving embrace of Kiith Menaan after I graduated." Hillivan caught himself watching her look at the skies.

"What is it like?" Hillivan kept quiet.

"Calling both your parents by foreign Kiith... whats it like up there..." Hillivan gave an appraising sigh.

"The mind of a scientists indeed. I'm still in contact with my folks... my mom says that Dad actually looks for me from up there... I gave her the layout of the base and the bay number. I'd like to think that I can say 'Hi' to my father every now and again." The woman besides him gave an uncomfortable shuffle.

"Why are you telling me this?" Hillivan shrugged. The movement shifted his arm to over Kristaan's head.

"It helped, didn't it?" Kristaan stilled and then gave a small, soft laugh. It sounded like rippling water and Hillivan had to smile.

She sat up slightly and pointed excitedly.

"That star is moving! There! Is that your dad!?" Hillivan looked, and sure enough, the little bright dot arcing up from the horizon like a regal shooting star that he looked for every night was there.

"Indeed. And he can see us as soon as he passes forty five degrees ascendant." The watched it as it slowly rose from the sandy horizon.

As it passed higher, Hillivan gave a big double handed wave and Kristaan gave a smaller, nervous single handed one. They craned their necks as it silently stole by.

After it had gone, Hillivan lay back down. Followed by Kristaan. Her head hit his arm and she stiffened. She turn to look at him only to see the starglow reflect off a small, content smile. She relaxed. She wasn't going to argue over an upgrade of pillow. Soon she was against his side as they watch the constellations climb into the sky from the east.

The engineers worked tirelessly into the encroaching morning glow.

Further A/N: Riggght... The fun bitz.

Firstly: There isn't going to be a glossary, I mean... if you here, you've obviously played some Homeworld as one point. And one doesn't play homeworld without getting a whole lotta backstory.

So I am to assume that thy self is fluent in Homeworldian and know what a Kiith is, what a Kiith'sa is, and who the actual fuck all these snazzy names are... eg, Sobanii and whats actually going down.

If you don't? I apologise.

I lied, Glossary:

Kiith: basically a large community that acts like a family. Brought together by belief or way of thinking. Somtaaw, for example are a mining clan, but individuals aren't exactly limited to mining.

Kiith'sa: Leader of a particular Kiith. Basically like being president of asia, half of Russia and having little groups of supporters around the world, if you the leader of a big clan. You also have the ability to declare war, (Imagine that big red, shiny button...) and then tell your people to fight it.

Kiith'sa'ka: [creative licence] my own addition, it denotes direct family of said leader of Kiith. That means brother, sister, son, daughter, wife or husband. Cause you can't be the hubby or arm candy of one of the most powerful people on the planet and not get some sort of shiney reward. A title seemed appropriate.

Diiamid: The council. Like all good sci-fi movies there has to be a group of civilians that run the whole show. Naturally, the bane of the military's existence. (Personal opinion. Don't sue)

Kiith'sa aren't allowed on the council either... fic's I've read have influenced my opinion on them, so I blame those writers for my shameless prejudices. Go on. Place that blame.

Now that that is out of the way...

Rant time! Yaaaaay...

Scale. Because of research, I went to Blackbird interactive to see if I could scrape up some interesting sayings, stats, trivia or other to make me seem more in the know and for better writing... I hit issues.

Ingame, we all know how far we launch the orange beacon smoke from the AAV's. On BBI's own godlike word, that is five hundred meters.

500\. Meters.

It has a crew of three. Looks to be upwards of 40 meters long by them little blobs of human standing before its mighty track...

Hah... Ha. Ha. I lol.

No. So I tweaked the size of said vehicles. Just the lesser ones. The Carriers can continue to Nimitz their way over the desert because when you that big you can afford to flip the bird at physics and make it your bitch.

So the AAV's, LAV's, Baserunners and maaaaybe the Support Cruiser is going to be toned down from flying tanks the size of apartment blocks. (Ingame, sometimes even the Baserunner takes flight.) And an added crewmember because... well, mine is a different make. Sort of like the difference between M1A1 Abrams and T-90.

Clearly BBI hasn't been to the good ol' Sahara. You sink to your ankles. You weigh on average 90/100 kg's... that's a male of smallish disposition. Deeper if it's particularly memey sand. Flying 200 tonne monsters will look like those tugboats in mid-Atlantic hurricanes.

Twice the size of a ww2 era Tiger will have to do. For the AAV now. LAV's are... proportionate. (2 man vehicles that skid around with bank angles of 20° plus [I checked in game] shouldn't be bigger than my house.)

Hope you enjoyed. Review even if it is just to tell me my rant was amusing... or flawed... 'specially flawed. I ain't writing ahead so just fair warning.

Ever hopeful,

E.W.


	2. Show and Tell

Disclaimer: Consider this very disclaimed.

A/N: Enjoy chapter 2

* * *

The Kushan sunrise was an awe inspiring sight. The cold night would slowly give way to pale grey, before in a matter of seconds, sunlight would seem set the sky itself alight. Sunlight would refract off of dust thrown high into the stratosphere and below by sandstorms and explosions. Deep burgundy would blossom at the edge of the visual spectrum and dance its merry way over the crimsons, cherice, gold, tan and eventually end a deep, base orange. The colours would waver and fade and switch back upon itself. This would then fade as the sun rose, preparing to bake the sands once more.

This amazing sight happened at oh-five-hundred hours, when the only people truely awake where the mechanics and operational planners. The REMF that took perverse plesure at being up at ungodly hours to smear into the faces of hardcore front-liners... or those that actually went out of their way to witness the spectacle.

And Kristaan thought it was well worth it. She sat knees crossed on the frontal glacis plate of 'Idiosyncratic', most of its crew still blissfully unawares inside, and smiled to herself.

'Life was good...' and with that done and out of the way, she got up and scrambled to the commander's open cupola. She took a moment and peered around the base. The Northern Coalition base. There was little blurbs of activity. The start of a LAV here, the testing of a Cruisers gun traverse mechanism there. But otherwise, the early morning was still.

She then turned back and eyed Commander Hillivan lounging through the hatch. In his hands where a datapad, and his eyes where furrowed beneath his long, dark hair and commander's cap.

"You missed the sunrise." She stated, curious as to what the man was doing. He didn't look up.

"I know. It's the same as always. You are up early." The way he said it made Kristaan want to have a good excuse. He excreted leadership from his very pores. But then he flicked his eyes to her and broke into a massive, shit-eating grin.

"You look like you had a night of especially rough sex. Coffee?" He reached over and held out a big square flask up towards her. She growled and tried to tame her hair. It tended to act unpredictably if she slept with her hood on. She found a mag-scrunchie and corralled it into a passable ponytail.

She accepted the coffee after realising it was still held out in offering.

"Do you always have to be an ass, or do you just take special pains for me?" Hillivan's grin grew.

"Oh, I go a long way to make sure I'm a total ass to everyone. I don't want to disappoint them, now do I?"

She gave him an incredulous look, as she tentatively supped at the coffee.

It was good, but not hot enough. It dissappeared in a few gulps and then passed it back. Hillivan snagged it and placed it away. He turned and looked at the datapad.

Curiosity got the better of her.

"Whats that?" Hillivan chuckled.

"Too early to play spy, Kristaan Gaalsien'Sa'Ka." He gave a soft chuckle, mindful of the sleeping occupants. Kristaan gave an indignant huff.

"I wasn't going to, Jackass. I'm... just curious is all." She had her arms crossed now. It sounded lame even in her own ears.

"They just tactical analysis reports from the regular forces. Want to see what they know that we don't, and where reports don't line up with ours as a favour for the Admiral. Wanna help?" Something seemed to twist and snap into place as she realised how deep in she actually was. Her family. Friends. The mirror gardens at home. That little fountain in the park everyone was so very, very proud of...

She'd either never see it again or see it from the vantage point of this AAV's command cupola. She'd either never see her family or see them escorted past at the end of Assault rifles. They'd never look at her with kind eyes again. She'd never experience a kind hug from Khagaan again...

'Khagaan is literally going to try and kill me.'

Kristaan broke down in a pitiful display of snivelling tears. She sat down hard and brought her knees up. The fact that she may never see her family again on good terms finally smashing home with the horsepower of an expedition carrier.

Hillivan's head poked out the cupola. His arms came up and he folded them and rested his head on them, head quirked at an angle.

"Okay. No reports then?" Kristaan gave a watery blub as a response.

"May I ask what you got against my paperwork?"Hillivan watched Kristaan for a long moment or three.

"Not... not the stupid reports y... you fucking ass!" She attempted an angry glare but her eyes where too red and her face fell too quickly.

"It sucks having a disapproving family, doesn't it?" Hillivan still hadn't moved to comfort her in any way.

"What the fuck do you know!?" She shouted. Hillivan's eyes hardened.

"My crew are asleep. Keep it down." She opened her mouth.

"You can take your crew and-" Hillivan had a hand clamped down over her mouth. It was hard and unforgiving and felt more akin to a steel trap. He was leaning awkwardly out of the cupola on his stomach, hands outstretched. His eyes were flinty and hard as diamond.

"I said keep it down. Rant all you want, but my crew gets up when I wake them, not by a noble brat who mourns a family that no longer cares..." the words where harsh and cold and stung deep because they where true even though they where all but whispered. Her eyes hardened and she wrenched his hand away.

"You know nothing. Is a person not allowed to mourn?" Her whisper was laced with venom and contempt. Hillivan shrugged.

"Yes. You are allowed. But this is a war, Kristaan. This is a war and there is loss. But my crew need their sleep. They have a war to fight and I will not deprive them of any of their hard won sleep. They will be, in fact, keeping you alive." He seemed satisfied.

'...he's on the turret with me.' And sure enough Hillivan was now sitting next to her distraught form with the hatch sitting behind him. She belatedly realised how fluidly this man moved around the AAV.

She bit off a childish jab at his crew. She was more mature than that. He made valid points. She was more mature than that... He made valid points... over and over like some mantra just to avoid more fighting. She was oh, so tired of fighting already.

"As I said. I know how it feels. I am offering my sympathies and condolences..." It was sandblasted near impossible to stay angry at this man. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and gave him a small quirk of the lips.

"...Okay. Thank you, Commander. I apologise for my behaviour and ask that it not reflect on my Kiith or family." Her spine straightened and her bearing became... formal. Her already stiff vocabulary gained another level of inflexibility.

"Oh tish-tosh. Stow that gab. I provoked and so I'll owe you one, hows that?" Kristaan gave Hillivan an unreadable look. A long, probing and silent look.

"What are you?" She finally gave way.

Hillivan gave another shit-eating grin and stood up.

"I am but a flotilla commander of Kiith Manaan. Life enthusiast and lover of a proper, orderly mind." He said grandly as he dropped back into the cupola.

She sighed and looked away to the massive fifty millimeter gun sticking out the front of the AAV's turret.

Kiith Manaan indeed.

She reached into one of her newly acquired pockets and took out breakfast.

'Maybe food will help.'

-0-

"Princess, we're moving out. We don't APC as a rule. Mind shacking in the Commander's throne again?" Zoltan's scruffy face was poked out some side hatch between the massive tracks. Her eyes had cleared and she had her emotions in check. Hopefully.

"Certainly. ETD?" She called as she ambled over to the commander's hatch. She peered through. Hillivan was with Dirnkik at the rear. They where discussing something intently.

"Sorta... nowish. Konran wants to be gone. We go." Kristaan raised an eyebrow as she settled into the commander's seat. It felt... wierd. But not wrong. Like a new shirt or pants.

"He's angsty to be driving, and so we drive?" Konran's foot was tapping out a staccato beat on the accelerator.

The inhabitants of the Idiosyncratic nodded as one.

"Its a thing. Keeps us out of trouble." She looked over at Dirnkik. He had the look of someone giving sage advice.

"Listen to Konran when he says to move. It just is. Like survival instincts, if you will." Kristaan just nodded and watched the AAV work like a well oiled machine without a commander.

Hillivan motioned to the radio over Dirnkik's shoulder.

'... why must I use... oh, Commander's have to free vehicles to the desert.'

She picked it up like it would crawl with sandvipers if shaken too roughly.

"Channel five. Request for Exfil or Unscheduled Release. Codename is-"

"I did have a flight of Sandskimmers under my command, Sir. I am competent. " She gave a suffering sigh.

"Delta Mike zero one to tower, Delta Mike zero one to tower, requesting unscheduled release, over."

"This is Bravo Oscar Charlie. Where is... the other guy? Over."

"Currently occupied. Are we cleared for Exfil, over."

"Sheesh. Yes yes. Exfil through gate zero two. Expect traffic, over."

"Understood. Delta Mike zero one over and out." Kristaan shot a look at Konran. He was already gunning for the second gate.

Kristaan settled in and took a page from Hillivan's book, scanning around. The vehicles where truly amazing. Cruisers with track systems bigger than the Idiosyncratic. Boxy Nabaal varients of the AAV. The LAV designed and tested by the same Kiith that sat high and proud beside some of them.

Then she heard it. A grinding, pounding beat drumming into the very fabric of reality.

She whirled her screen around and gaped.

It was... massive. Slightly bigger than even Gaalsien carriers. It glided proud and uncaring past as lesser vehicles scrambled out of its path.

Flanked by some Baserunner or other and a small flotilla of LAV's, it parked in a holding pattern before the massive sand-doors.

She watched as they trundled past. When the carrier moved, the tracks hitting the reinforced concrete made a booming noise akin to localised thunder.

"The Fiiskire is a beautiful tub for sure, but the captain is rather disdainful of us meager mortals." Zoltan gave a small nod towards where it sat outside the hull, nose buried in a small square can of... something.

"Really?" She scrutinised the command island. Maybe she could see the Captain.

"Yup. Dash where we woul' be if Hillie 'd taken sha posht." Zoltan had his head turned upwards slightly and ws talking through a mouthful of something. Noodles, if the stray few still outside his mouth where any indication. The smell then reached her nose and her eyes watered.

"How spicy are those?" She motioned to his noodles. She immediately got child-like giggles from the entire crew.

"Ever hear of Sajan Reactor Fuel?" She gave a confused shake of her head towards Hillivan.

"Hottest hot sauce on the market. Konran uses it to strip the gears now and then." This was said with a grin that Kristaan couldn't take seriously.

"You are all insane." She said with certainty.

"You haven't even seen them bored!" Dirnkik called out. She turned in her chair and gave him the evil eye.

"I thought you the reason to their insanity?" He just looked up and flashed her a crooked smile.

"Bravo Oscar to Delta Mike, sand-doors opening. Good hunting out there. Over."

"Uhm... Thanks, Bravo Oscar. We are cleared of the doors. Over and out."

And the moment the tank treads went from the clacking racket of hard ground to the smooth swishing noise of fine desert sand, the atmosphere of the tank changed. The ammo belts rammed home and then disengaged. The front view plate smashed closed then was opened. The gun was spooled and held there for a belts worth of time. They rechecked everything once again, making it the fourth time from since earlier in the engineering bay.

Hillivan tapped her on the shoulder. He was hanging from a hand and foot on the handholds. She slipped off and made the small fall to the deck. It quivered, rolled and bucked as the AAV made its way over small dunes scattered around the flats.

"You might want to hold on to something or strap in when we hit the dunes proper." Hillivan called as he slid into his seat. After running some checks he went into the relentless looking around routine he had used as they drove in. Kristaan strapped in on a seat that could fold out behind Dirnkik. It wasn't very comfortable, but combat maneuvers over dunes left even some excitable Baserunners catching airtime... Experienced LAV drivers were known to compete with their air cover for airborne hours.

And Kristaan would happily bet a Cruiser to a Carrier thet these four fools were one of if not the best crews out there. It was in the way they held themselves. The way they meshed together. Maybe it was how they left absolutely nothing to chance or suspected everything. Or it could be how they treated it all with cavalier enthusiasm. Like it was a hobby

Memories flashed.

Maybe it was how they could encounter, nullify and or take apart a superior enemy with seemingly easy movements. The thought was bitter on her tounge.

They hit the first dune and there was a feeling of temporary weightlessness before the AAV smacked back onto sand. They arced up and there was another period of weightlessness. It continued as they rode deeper into the desert, across grain to the dunes.

-0-

"So boss. What did the Admiral say? What do we get ta' blow up?" Zoltan sounded excited. They'd stopped cutting the grain and now ran almost parallel. There where moments when they'd shift from leaning left to leaning right every few minutes as they scuttled up over the dune, but progress was good.

"Not alot. Three things, actually." Hillivan leaned back from the screen and rubbed his eyes. Dirnkik and Zoltan gave an inscrutable look towards their superior.

"Tha's not alot." Zoltan seemed disappointed.

"Ah, but the size all makes up for it." The inscrutable look morphed to one of borderline childish glee.

"Production cruisers?" Dirnkik asked, interest piqued.

"Nuh uh. Bigger." There was a collective intake of breath.

"We're going after carriers!? Sir. Thats inadvisable, with current forces we'd take out two at best before getting ground into the sand!" Dirnkik said with an air of finality as he turned back to his nav-screen.

"So that's why we'll be getting help. Konran, thoughts?"

"No bad feelings, per say. But I don't see what help would allow us to take on three carriers, Commander." Hillivan had that shit-eating grin mixed with cocky smirk on his lips.

"There you all go assuming I said Carriers."

'He's insane. Truely, utterly Suntouched.' Kristaan thought in abject horror/awe.

"That raises the odds, sir. But, smashing Gaalsien depots are death traps at best. We can't outrun the garrison." Dirnkik finally said with a frown.

"We will have to ensure there will be none to chase us then." The crew gave an overall sceptical look. Konran sighed.

"We keep doubting you, sir, and you keep going out of your way to prove us wrong each time." Hillivan nodded eagerly.

"I live to serve."

Kristaan just tightened her left shoulder strap, shifted slightly to remove a gouging hinge from her thigh and watched as the banter flew back and forth. She tried to connect these men to the almost detached way her entire wing of skimmers where... handled.

-0-

Reefik sat and watched. Long, straight and dark hair fell around piercing and attentive eyes. His lithe frame accentuated by gaunt cheeks and an oversized uniform, sash hanging limply over a scrawny chest.

His fingers where tapping a rapid beat on the firing triggers but he was patient. Reefik just sat and watched.

He peered at the targeting screen and adjusted the reticule aiming at the income AAV for the fiftieth time in maybe ten seconds, so the sweet spot that hung above and ever so slightly to the left that would put a rail-slug just above the front track arch. It would ricochet towards the back and up, smashing Konran's arms to mist, were he would bleed out in seconds, hit the far wall were it would cause a splash pattern of shrapnel that would kill Zoltan in the gunner seat and provide a ninety percent chance of severely maiming or killing Hillivan. The only relatively unaffected person would be Dirnkik in the Nav seat... maybe he could walk away blind or missing an arm or leg due to amputation?

'Perhaps an engine shot and bounce the entire round around inside?'

Reefik's fingers twitched involuntarily.

'No... Ammo. Rear track arch to insode edge. Detonate the standby HE magazine.'

Reefik's turret tracked, and the reticule shifted slightly. He flicked the comms and whispered into his headset.

"Zap. Spang. Boom. No more superiors."

There was a pause which probably translated into Hillivan laughing or desperately searching.

'Probably both.'

"And who is to say we weren't waiting for your capacitors to spool to pop smoke?" He definitely sounded amused.

A running gag in the 'Martins.

"You... wouldn't have seen it, Sir." Reefik's voice was just above a whisper. It was raspy and jagged, but also smooth in the same way stines where after a sandstorm. Worn... weathered.

"Uh huh? How far you out?" Hillivan's voice carried the ghost of a challenge. Reefik didn't even need to look at the Distance-to-target readout on a small extra screen, top-left. He'd stopped using that a long time ago. He, as always, checked anyway.

"Four point two. To your... eleven? Make that quarter to eleven." And reefik watched the oversized turret of the AAV swing his way. Not entirely on him, but close.

"Left a bit... Yeah, thats me." Reefik knew if he concentrated and turned the comm's volume way up, he'd hear Zoltan's muffled swearing.

"Sajuuk-damned rail aces. How can you even make that shot!? That man is Suntouched..." and so the rant went on.

Reefik felt the smile tug at his lips.

"Come on Noahan, lets get going. There was that rather advantageous outcropping I spotted yesterday. I think I marked it..."

Noahan just sighed and shook his head. The Manaan rail gun tank geared up and swiveled around.

"Wonder why the boss went to The Bom just for a day or two... whats the point?" Reefik's piercing eyes moved from the targeting screen to the back of Noahan's head. He finally gave an evasive 'I'm sure he'll tell us when he gets back to camp.'. Noahan didn't seem satisfied.

"Why ya' gotta be like so, mate?" He sat back heavily and gave his driver a inscrutable look.

"Ah, suck it up. Just keep your head on a swivel. That dust is bound to attract trouble." Reefik just rolled his eyes and traversed the gun forward.

"Contact the Lavvies. We're rolling. Where do ya' think trouble is?"

"They're probably already here... floats are funny like that." Noahan spat out an aggressive affirmative.

"Damn floats... They should all be sent on a walk through the Great Banded Desert. Waterless." Reefik held his tounge. There's only so much a man can say to that.

-0-

"Shard zero one this is Frostbite. We got an assault craft wave inbound on your position. Repeat, incoming floats. Heads up, over."

"Frostbite this is Shard zero one, we are aware. Any reason they out here, over."

"Bad news from the The Bom, Shard. These are part of some form of mop up, as far as comms can tell, over."

"Affirmative, Frostbite. They seem lost, ov-oh, Fidget one one is in the area, over."

There was a sigh.

"That must have been close. The attack started just after dawn... Frostbite over and out."

Reefik switched channels, and alerted Hillivan, mind still turning at what attack Frostbite could have meant. The man took it in his stride and the AAV altered course. Reefik eyed the new direction and gave a small smile when Reefik noticed where he would intercept the Assault wing, and hopefully draw them to a small series of larger dunes, perfect ambush site. Reefik could hang back on the ridge and provide cover while Crowbar three sprung an ambush.

The LAVs were already motoring to their positions, slower, as not to kick up excess dust.

Hillivan would need to stay the focus of fire and Reefik would need to land his shots if any of the LAV's had a hope of coming out on top. Three assault craft. A wing. With no skimmer cover either. This was either a long range patrol or the floats had gotten hopelessly overconfident. They where also probably betting on Sobanii manufactured opponents.

Reefik spooled the gun and that smile tugged at his lips.

"Hillivan's made contact. Be ready to jump in a few seconds..." there was a chorus of replies. Reefik watched the three heavily armoured attackers pause for a moment as they ran into Hillivan's retreating form. A handful of rounds where exchanged before Hillivan broke off and popped the orange crystalline smoke. It was alarmingly dense that smoke, and did all sorts of nasty things to sensors. The three floaters seemed to hesitate before gunning it and pursuing Hillivan. They made it to the ridge.

The four LAV's were visable, decked out to the max with a multitude of field modifications and their twin-linked chain guns where spinning in delight in Reefik's targeting screen.

Hillivan came into view.

"GO GO GO!" Noahan let out an excited giggle at what was to come.

The first Gaalsien assault craft cleared the rise with grace. It was immediately drenched in sparks as the LAV's roared past, spewing death.

"Zap. Twank. Crunch."

Reefik pulled the trigger and the entire tank bucked.

The lead Assault craft was struck along the flank, a large, white hot round gouging a massive furrow in its armour. It smashed straight through the bulbous hover project on it flank and bounced off as the armour curved around the rear. The vehicle teetered on the air for a handful of seconds before slipping sideways and smashing face first into the hard ground at the bottom of the dune. It immediately started belching smoke but Reefik reckoned the floats inside where alive.

Probably.

The reloading mechanism activated and Reefik watched as the round went up. Then the capacitors where spooling and it was time to pick another target.

It was going... well. Ish. Hillivan was dancing with one, Zoltan trading fire with the pursuing vehicle, and Reefik noticed the... lack of grace? that Konran usually admirably flaunted. It made itself present in the way he didn't manage to avoid all the shifts and dips that threw Zoltan off... how sometimes after a complex series of maneuvers, there where pauses as he re-orientated himself.

They where definitely tired. Probably been riding hard with a fight or two. They definitely made good time.

The other Triple-F was being swamped by four LAV's. It was handling itself well and one LAV was already limping noticeably. The floats hadn't picked up un it and the remaining three where doing what could only be described as a plaiting weave around and sometimes even under the enemy vehicle. Their guns where spewing rounds almost constantly. The enemy couldn't track one without three others peppering it with AP rounds.

Reefik let fly and for one point three agonising seconds he hoped the target wouldn't veer off or change course as a shaped and hypersonic hunk of tungsten carbide left a blazing blue trail of ionized air behind.

It didn't.

The round smacked dead on from the rear and went through the armour like a carrier through a sandstorm. It buckled and its main cannon faltered then stopped firing its erratic bark.

'I could have sworn I hit the-'

It exploded as its cold-fusion rector went critical.

Reefik watched with almost a bemused detachment as a sheet of armour a meter across was spat out of the miniature fireball and flew unerringly towards Crowbar three three. It connected moments later and sheared straight through the poor LAV's front left wheel. Suspension, shocks, drivetrain, everything. The whole assembly flew off and the LAV's nose hit the ground. It was not pretty.

It resembled a particularly gymnastic toddler throwing a tantrum as it cart-wheeled and flipped over four times before crunching to a halt on its turret.

It was barely recognisable as a LAV.

It was around this time that the last Gaalsien craft was turned into a tumbling ball of flame as an AP round hit something decidedly important. Hillivan's AAV trundled up looking particularly smug. It had a smoking round still visable near the front of the tank on its flank.

"Looks like Virnsan took quite the tumble. He responding?" Hillivan's voice was calm but held the definitive edge of someone who was very anxiously awaiting either fantastic or tragic news.

"Not sure. Their comms are laying about twenty meters to your left. We gonna have to cut them out, sir." Reefik's position allowed him to watch over it all as a sort of overwatch. Noahan was keeping eyes peeled on the surrounding sand.

"We've got the tools. We cut, Crowbar three one and three two will patrol and three four will keep Shard zero one company. Affirmative?" The radio burst into a cacophony of 'yessirs' and 'affirmed'.

"Hows she holding up, Ohnik?" Reefik watched the battered vehicle veer off and point themselves straight at their rail tank.

"Lets just say that there's a wonderful stifling breeze in here."

Reefik wondered at the implications.

"And you think she'll make camp?"

Ohnik was a man built like a sand monolith and twice as sturdy. He was an easy going man with a reckless streak a dune wide. A perfect LAV pilot.

"Of course, man. I mean... we can always get out and push." Reefik just shook his head in wonderment. He was more of a sit-at-the-rear fellow.

-0-

"Ya' know... I'm starting te detect a pattern..." Konran looked up and back at Zoltan.

"Yeah? Hows that?"

"Drive for a day. Get shot up. Sit in the sun and repair or save some shit, pick up royalty, hit camp, get kicked out of bars." Zoltan gave a defeated sigh in his chair. His hands where trembling and his brow was sodden.

"Kristaan... you wouldn't perhaps have a twin sister in the Assault craft business?" He gave a half attempt at waggling his eyebrows. Kristaan gave a muffled giggle before straightening.

"There's Khagaan, but she's... how would you call it? Admiral? Rear Admiral? Carrier captain? A mixture perhaps." Zoltan whined.

"No fair... I'm sure she'd love us. Think if I asked nicely, she'd give me her carrier after I blow her mind in-"

"Zoltan. Behave. Ladies have... whats the word I'm looking for?" Dirnkik started clicking his finger and looking around as if to find it attached to the roof.

"Sensibilities?" Hillivan supplied.

"Thats it! Refined women have sensibilities! The city was filled with 'em. Couldn't walk down a street without tripping over someone's sensibilities. Weirdest thing those..." Dirnkik's gaze became distant.

Kristaan was struggling to keep a straight face. Her mind was remembering the razor sharp politeness of the inner political circles, and couldn't help but want to chuckle at the outside perspectives view.

"Dirnkik, see if you can get into that LAV. I'll be cooking up some lunch. Any ideas?" Kristaan stared.

Food? At a time like this!? The LAV's where surrounding the Assault craft that went down first, hauling the three crewmembers out with pointed rifles and aggressive movements.

"Some barbecue, or whatever you do to those Sandvipers. That was nice. Though I doubt we have the stoneshrooms... Zoltan?" Konran asked in the middle of his musing.

Zoltan shrugged and was busy aiming the main gun at something.

"Some instant noodles on the side with that sauce could do wonders, actually." His stomach gave a growl.

'How hungry is this man?' Kristaan wondered with amazement. He'd eaten earlier, obviously scrounging up extra rations from... somewhere. And now he'd be eating again.

Hillivan nodded and Dirnkik slid out the side hatch with grace. The sweltering heat from outside hit her face and she blanched.

'Mid fifties at least.' And thank Sajuuk Coalition uniforms where just as good at keeping you cool, if somewhat less comfortable than Gaalsien uniforms.

Hillivan dropped out of his seat and went to rummage in the storage unit that acted as a low bench at the back.

He slipped out the side with a cooler-pack on his back, something white and hexagonal on a gimbal of a sort and a round plate with mesh over it.

"You want to watch, miss? Or are you going to enjoy the aircon?" Hillivan asked not particularly caring for an answer.

"I'll... I'll watch." Not entirely sure what she would be watching. The crew where abuzz, each doing something. Zoltan had opened a panel and was fiddling with what looked like the feeding mechanism for the Auto gun. Konran was looking rather jumpy as he clipped on armour to his softsuit towards the rear and picked up the no-nonsense rifle favoured by the coalition. Long barrel surrounded by cooling ridges in a rectangular prism design. Straight magazine and then the handhold incorporated into the adjustable stock. This one had no scope on it, but then again, Konran didn't look too comfortable with the weapon either. Which struck Kristaan as odd.

He slipped out of the side hatch and as it closed, it went clunk-click. Kristaan eyed the hatch.

"Is the hatch broken?" She wondered aloud. Maybe it was the locking mechanism? Or the magnetic seal?

"Nope. Just Can't get rid of the noise. You get used to it." Zoltan's voice was tinny from inside the panel. Kristaan gave a thoughtful pout.

"So tell me... whats life in the floats like? I mean you definitely hot enough to demand at least four different attempts to bed..." Kristaan gave a long suffering sigh.

"Don't. I don't want to have to put your future family in jeopardy." Zoltan gave an exaggerated gasp and a hand came down to clutched at his crotch.

"You wouldn't! I might infect your good sensibilities with... whatever us dirty peasants have." His voice was a chuckle with vowels in.

Kristaan bit her lip in her effort not to smile.

Time to see what Hillivan was doing.

"Don't kill yourself... or actually, don't damage the vehicle if you do."

-0-

"So what do you... you know, think of our addition?" Konran was maybe one mention of danger away from stuttering.

"Clear the hatch! Not sure. She's quiet, polite and smart. She could eitger be trouble or a great boon-" the rest was cut off as the roaring sizzle of the plasma cutter started eating away at a small space on the hatch. After a few seconds, a round hole roughly the size of a clenched fist fell outwards, edges glowing dulling in the shade.

"Anyone responsive?" Dirnkik shouted at the hole.

"Yeah, we both here. Virnsan might have concussion though." The voice was strained but didn't have the raspy wetness of an injured lung or throat.

"But I mean, Hillivan seems quite taken by her. In his own strange Hillivan'esque way."

"True. Its going to cause problems though." Dirnkik fiddled with the cutter then put it to where the locking mechanism was on the hatch. There was a short hiss and metallic snap. Dirnkik motioned for Konran to try the hatch. It was sitting upside down and leaning towards them. The three wheels, two bent in entirely new directions, stuck into the air like the legs of some helpless animal.

It didn't even bother to budge.

Dirnkik frowned and inspected the edge of the hatch. Finally seeming to reach his conclusion on what was keeping it shut, he positioned the cutter and called out a warning.

He drew a molten line, showering them both with sparks, along the what was now the top right corner and then dragged it to the bottom right. There was a screech of tortured metal and Dirnkik simply leaned sideways and let the hatch fall to the sand. It rose a massive cloud of fine sand and made both cough.

"Y... you all okay?" Konran peered around the hatchway. It was dimly lit by the outside light and the odd shower of sparks as equipment went through a domino effect of shorting out.

Two bodies where strung up from the 'roof' in their chairs. Virnsan was mumbling and attempting to undo buckles while upside down in the gunner/commander's seat. The driver, Silbilan, was just crossings her arms under a generous bust that was now being squished by the straps. It looked painful.

"You both okay?" Dirnkik pulled himself in and with a fluid movement, swung his way to the driver. A long combat knife appeared in his hand.

"Yeah... its painful though. Hurry if you can." Dirnkik signaled for Konran to get Virnsan. He swung himself up and nervously played with his own combat knife.

"Uhmmm. Just... hold on, Vernny. I'll see... see what I can do." He quickly sawed through a strap that freed the LAV commander's one arm that was pinned. As Konran worked, he saw Virnsan's eyes clear somewhat and beginning working with in more than a mindless flailing.

'Perhaps he was just stunned?' Another strap parted with a clothy sigh and Virnsan righted himself with a slow and careful movement. He freed his own knife and began working himself free alongside Konran. Finally Konran patted the closest handrail and after a moment of Virnsan holding on, cut the last strap. The LAV commander hung limply. They made their way out and sat heavily next to where the hatch was.

"You okay there?" Konran wasn't entirely sure what to say.

"'M fine. Just a bit shaken. What happened?"

"Lost a wheel to shrapnel." Dirnkik slid out of the hatch and helped Silbilan out after him, motioning to a wheel half buried in the fine sand almost fifty meters to the right.

"Ow. I think I twisted my arm in that tumble." Silbilan was indeed cradling her arm close to her chest.

"Surprised that the fire bulkhead didn't shake loose and puree you both. Consider yourselves lucky." Dirnkik was squinting up into the hatch, having crashed to the ground next to Konran.

"Wonder how we're getting back." Virnsan said idly, not particularly caring beyond this short respite of fighting. The four just sat in the shade and watched Hillivan rustle up something good and said another thing to the girl that sat cross legged near the solar cooker, hands gesturing mildly in emphasis of some tall story or other.

Virnsan finally clicked as Zoltan scurried out of the commander's cupola, opened a massive panel along the side of the gun and began tinkering with something inside. It involved a uni-spanner and alot of swearing

"Wait... who's that with Hillivan then?" He looked confusedly at Konran and Dirnkik, to Zoltan on top of the tank, the to the two figures conversing in the shade between the two tracks, clearly trying to count them out. They where under the hull while the solar cooker sat in the sun. Hillivan's tall figure would sometimes dart out, flip the grid over the plate, and stir a small pot of something then scurry back into the shade.

"She's... a passenger, I guess." Dirnkik kept it vague. Virnsan looked relieved. Probably at not seeing things.

"And why ain't we worried about the floats having called for backup? I mean... it wasn't exactly a bam and scram, we traded shells. they had plenty of time." He was still eyeing Hillivan and the cooker... trying to figure something out.

"Where are we?" Dirnkik fiddled with his knife.

"Somewhat southeast of the Mezoic flats. Whats that got to do with why there's no reinforcements?" Silbilan answered for her commander.

"Location is everything. We are too south to get caught in any attack aimed at the frontline bases, and the closest Gaalsien outpost is almost four days ride to the southwest. They weren't Baserunners and there isn't sign of them either. There was no way they could call for help..." Dirnkik sheathed the combat knife with a jerk.

"Besides. They hesitated. No float hesitates. Ever. They where wondering if they could engage safely so far away from backup. At least thats how I figure." Hillivan waved them over. Lunch was ready, then they'd be moving out.

"And, uh... Mind any food Zoltan nears. He... he likes his spicey." Konran gave a nervous chuckle.

-0-

The sun was hot and everyone decided that lounging under the AAV was best. The six sat comfortably with a metal plate wedge between knees or on laps.

A deep burgundy piece of meat dripping with sauce and a helping of instant noodles that where seasoned to make them more substantial adorned everyone's plates. The noodles where spicey but left a sweet aftertaste and the meat was tender, and the sauce filled in and complimented the somewhat salty tang.

It was good and all appreciated the value of good food in the middle of semi-deep desert.

"So Kristaan, what brings you to the 'Martins?" Virnsan asked as he slurped up a long thread of noodles. She shot a subtle but alarmed look at Hillivan. He gave a small, barely there wink.

"I'm... ah, well I am somewhat an expert on Gravshift technology, and was assigned to your fleet to see if I could be of assistance." She flushed and played with her food. Lies didn't sit well with her.

"You mean... you've work with and understand floaty bits?" Silbilan clarified with amazement. There weren't many people who had access to working floaty bits. They where either the first to get shot up, partially melted in a reactor overload or destroyed entirely in a crash or self destruct sequence especially designed to eliminate that possibility.

"Wow... so what do you plan on doing with this expertness then?" And Kristaan was now free falling off a cliff of indeterminate height.

She shrugged.

"Maybe design some sort of jammer or special round that jams the workings. Develop scanners that pick up gravshift wavelengths..." Kristaan's mind caught up with her mouth and it screamed in abject horror.

'What am I saying!? I can't possibly do that! I'm no scientists! I understand the basics, thats it! It will lead to more deaths!' But the words where out and the crowd was impressed.

"Huh. Guess that could be useful. Hillivan. Again. What did you do to this 'viper!? Its delicious." Virnsan gave a smile then stood. Winced, then righted himself.

"We'll be hitching a ride with Giiran. Thanks for the food. Sir, good to see you again. We'll see each other back at camp." Virnsan spoke into a comm at his neck and Silbilan got up.

"Always good to chat, Commander. See you all around." And as she managed to walk besides Virnsan that was aiming for a dune ridge, another LAV pulled up and both scrambled up into the vehicle and waved as the hatch shut with a much better resounding 'chunk' than their own.

"Lets move, people. I want to get back to camp." Hillivan had already packed away the solar cooker and plates where washed with handfuls of sand until semi-clean. The crew swung themselves up and into the tank with one graceful movement. Kristaan scrambled with slightly less grace.

Then they where all strapped in and they fell into the makeshift convoy. After a few seemingly random shuffling of positions they where at the front, with a LAV directly behind them, a rail tank that Kristaan had previously not notice before, and the other two LAV's, one with two extra crewmembers. She was looking over Dirnkik's shoulder as much as she was able to, while strapped in.

"How long until we reach the camp?"

Dirnkik just zoomed out from the convoy until it was one summary icon on the screen and panned in the direction they where headed. Four screens of panning later a waypoint marker was placed next to what looked like some sort of cliff-sided messa.

"Thats about another hours drive. If nothing else happens. Which shouldn't. Otherwise Hillivan will have Words with the sentries." She heard the capital 'W' in words. She processed this and finally found issue.

"Why are your sentries posted so far from your base. Backup is far from available and there are many that could slip through the cracks!" Dirnkik just shook his head with a smile.

"Scouts don't engage without being sure they'll come out on top. Their job is just to alert so we can either avoid or ambush. This here was a fringe engagement. Reefik probably had his reasons for moving all the way out here... probably was looking for trouble. Or us." Kristaan's brows furrowed and she wasn't sure of any supposed 'intel' on the Coalition's tactics anymore.

"You are fine with your subordinates just gallivanting around the desert? Do they not respect or heed your orders?" Kristaan challenged Hillivan in his position above them in the commander's seat. Hillivan gave an enigmatic smile and lounged back from his scanning ahead.

"Lets put it like this. If I can't predict where my men are, the enemy most certainly can't." Kristaan stared, mouth tempted to gape.

"No, I jest. These men are following orders. There is a system and it works. I like to think of my men as competent, and as such, take liberties and initiatives." Hillivan propped a boot up onto a nearby rail.

"I'm not a superior that deigns to micro manage my troops. If I say jump, they better know that I don't mean off a cliff or into enemy fire. I point them in a direction and we all go. One big, extended, happy family. With heavy armour and rail guns." Kristaan's fists clenched and she narrowed her eyes.

"This is war. This is serious! Our people are fighting and dying and you all are treating is as one fantastic adventure!" She half attempted to stand but thought better.

"Where is your sense of gravitas? My brothers and sisters are treated as entertainment?" Only years of rapt knuckles and stern decorum tutors kept her from spitting on his boots and cursing his bloodline.

His eyes turned stern.

"Kristaan. We do indeed take your Kiith seriously. There is a too long list in the logs of brothers and sisters taken by this Sajuuk-damned war. We did not want this war. Gaalsien shells were the first fired in anger! You called the 'Martins to the sands to wage war... a pointless, mindless war. You do realise the only outcomes, right? You do realise your father as consigned us to a long, bitter war, surely?"

Hillivan didn't look angry, he looked... depleted. He looked weathered as if the entire war was on his shoulders alone.

"One that ends either at the end of Kiith Gaalsien, or at the end of the Kiithid of S'jet, Manaan, Sobaan, Somtaaw... all of us. Because those pretty little lights up there? They're our last hope of surviving this sun-baked rock, and S'jet knows that. And they'll fight until there aren't any left. And the Coalition will too, because they too, know the benefits, if not the long term. And you? Kiith Gaalsien? You fight in the name of our god and his prophecies. Religion calls to people and they'll fight to protect it."

Kristaan wanted to say more. She wanted to scream at him. She wanted this petty war to end... but she now saw how it would all end. It seemed so simple now. It was horrifying.

"Why do you fight then? Why does Manaan fight with the Coalition?" Her voice was small, barely audible above the swishing of the tracks and whine of the powercell.

She watched as the interior of the tank became significantly more frosty with all the icy looks. Not at her, in particular, but at the screens and throttle control and main gun triggers. Like all where remembering old pasts.

Hillivan gave another long sigh.

"What was your first thought when you found out we were Kiith Manaan? What did you say? What did you assume, despite your education?" Kristaan was struck dumb.

'What did I say?' She racked her brain.

'What could cause an entire Kiith to-'

~Never strung your victims desecrated bodies to your ship with razorwire?~

She shivered. Hillivan gave a morbid nod.

"We are not overly well liked. The most adverse to our existence would be your family. Then Siidim. Probably Nabaal after that..." Hillivan shook his head as if clearing his thoughts.

He eyed her up and down and Kristaan felt... judged? Evaluated? It did strange things to her gut and she couldn't place the feeling.

"We will, eventually, probably when we get back to camp, have to reveal your identity as a member of Kiith Gaalsien." She blanched and her complexion was similar to that of their camouflage.

"Why!?" The rest of the crew also looked decidedly interested.

"Her mannerisms and the way she holds herself will get noticed after longer exposure and more than a cursory glance. Call it a proactive protection technique." Hillivan nodded to himself before looking at her feet.

"My station is brought on by more than just rank, and I value trust highly. One look at you walking the sand and people will be at my thoat for the deceit." He turned and began look over the surrounding desert, completely unaffected by the apparent death sentence he'd just given her.

Dirnkik looked thoughtful for a long moment.

"You plan on giving her a weapon, don't you, sir?" Hillivan nodded. Kristaan narrowed her eyes.

"And plan on using her position as royalty to keep her safe." It wasn't a question. Konran, markedly less nervous, gave a small snort.

"And why won't all the 'Martins lynch mob her?"

"We'll be too busy tackling the real enemy and they'll be chewing on the main targets to worry. Mostly me just asking nicely."

'This man is unreal. He's Suntouched.' Kristaan also belatedly realised how often this was said or thought and then decide that it was either true or he was blessed by Sajuuk himself. Probably both. She gave him a dirty look or three just to keep up appearances, but was on some detached level already aware of her fate.

-0-

Kristaan had to give it to the 'Martins. Really. They could say they could hide a carrier up the arse of a sandrat and she'd believe them. They packed away a support cruiser (she was sure they weren't meant to be that big though), two wings of the Manaan AAVs, another wing of LAVs, a rail gun and a pair of what appeared to be some adaption of an AAV but without a turret... all into a small but sprawling camp wedged against a cliff. That was invisible until you broke your nose against the bow plate of one of the LAVs covering the entrance.

Kristaan had been all but shoved into the command cupola as they neared the camp. She'd squinted and looked and stared and squinted some more but she didn't spot it until they'd cleared the last dune and suddenly the bustling camp was... there. It didn't help that the entire crew burst into a fit of manly giggles at her expression.

Hillivan sported a red hand on his shoulder when he came to close.

"Welcome to camp Frostbite. Our humble abode for the next three days. We hope you'll enjoy your stay!" Zoltan gave a chuckle interrupted by an angry growl from his stomach. He'd eaten not half an hour ago.

"Stow it, Zoltan. Konran, park her in line for the repair shop. But see to it that there's space for Ohnik. His LAV got pretty shot up." Konran nodded and they pulled around the rear of the support cruiser. Kristaan gasped. The back cavity had been converted entirely to a heavy duty production and repair shop. There where two LAV's and an AAV in the making, merely skeletons on gangly support struts with sparks erupting every few seconds. There was a sort of roof halfway up the rear cavity with the noses of two...

'Are those strike fighters!?'

This was definitely not a support cruiser. No way. It was almost two full AAV's too long and it had the back filled in and weapon pontoons on the sides and-

"You are staring, miss." Dirnkik had maybe a hint of a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"What did you do to your cruiser?" She managed to sound awestruck, offended and scared at the same tine.

"Mananoi pattern... its not standard in the coalition lineup if thats whats bothering you. Its too pricey and doesn't suit its role in the main fleets. Fits ours perfectly though." Kristaan watched the damaged LAV from their convoy pull up and reverse into an empty slot in the bay. The mechanics gave it a tired and challenging look.

"Time for you to see out center of operations! Can I give her the tour?" Zoltan was like a kid with his racing idol. Hillivan just shook his head and opened the commander's hatch.

"I don't trust you to sit the right way on a toilet seat, Zoltan. Why would I trust you with a pretty lady?" Kristaan blushed slightly and scowled.

"I'm right here you idiots." They both gave her a 'yes, and?' look.

"Can I just... look around a bit first?" She tentatively asked. She wanted to see how all these vehicles where different from the standard. Every single model was altered or improved on. She wanted to poke and prod and just generally be inquisitive. Maybe be a nuisance if she was lucky.

Hillivan gave her a thoughtful look before sighing.

"Dirnkik. You up for escort duty? Or you think she'll manage to not stir up trouble?" Dirnkik gave a longing look towards the chop-shop, then to her. Then back.

"She'll manage." Kristaan just... watched in awe.

"Like I said, dipshits, I'll give her the tour!" Both Hillivan and Dirnkik gave almost identical pained looks at their tame gunner, who looked vaguely predatory if you looked closely or too quickly.

"I'll go with Zoltan. I just want to see for myself the great Desertmartins in the flesh." The inside of the AAV grew decidedly awkward as they all just sat and stared at the massive white elephant in the room.

"Was that... flattery?" Konran sounded like he couldn't quite fit his head around it.

Kristaan blushed.

"Just... don't kill anyone. I will disapprove." Hillivan looked at Kristaan pointedly. More accurately, at his revolver and holster strapped to her hip.

"I'll be in the center hatching plots. If there's trouble, I don't know you and I have never seen you before in my life. Oh, and keep suit comms to channel five." And with that, Hillivan was gone from the command chair and out into the dry air outside.

Kristaan and Zoltan looked at each other and grinned a conspiring grin.

-0-

The place was Busy. Borderline chaotically Busy. Busy with a capital 'B'. There was this humming jostle of bodies and vehicles. There was a surprisingly constant flow of outgoing and incoming traffic at the entrance. The LAVs that had accompanied them back from the fight had dispersed and some had gone out, presumably on patrol, while others returned.

The troops trudged around base in their tan armour, rifles clipped to their back. Some where in groups beneath camouflaged shade cloth. They'd be sitting around with caati juice in hand or cards held fugitively against the prying eyes of crewmates

'Was that a Regicide board?' She caught the familiar shapes between a small crowd and two relaxed but hawk-eyed individuals.

There was constantly a small buzz of conversation, snippets of some making her smile at its benign nature. Her boots where her old Gaalsien ones, and she strode next to Zoltan in comfort. He was busy pointing out the advantages of the Mabaan LAV over that of the Sobanii pattern with wild movements and the odd chuckle or laugh. They made their way over to the repair bay as Kristaan was held fascinated by the intricate tale of why Mananoi Vehicle's tended to outperform other patterns. She stopped at the 'entrance' of the repair bay, the cavernous rear of the support cruiser. There was the low grinding scream of heavy duty machinery and the teeth-hurting whine of fabrication projectors. Voices would drift above the cacophony of noice in demand for the odd uni-wrench or a size thirteen power-driver. There was a solitary repair beam focused on the LAV. The pale blue ethereal beam was subdued, partially due to the intensity of the ones currently emanating around the new vehicles, Kristaan had no doubt.

"Can I help ye?" Kristaan turned to look at the new voice. She caught herself from bursting into laughter. The man took her up to maybe her chest, and was... portly. He didn't have a neck so much as a series of chins. He didn't have a stomach, he had an equator. She was sure if she pushed him over, he'd roll.

"Ah, Graan. Just wondering around. See you guys managed to scrounge up enough RU's for some expansion. Boss is gonna have a field day sorting the rosters again." Graan just nodded, all his chins nodding with.

"Who's the broad?" Kristaan's hands clenched into fists. Zoltan had the balls to laugh.

"Watch it, Hillivan said no trouble... he'll introduce her to the 'Martins at the meet most probably." Zoltan replied easily, shifting slightly to cover Kristaan's hand playing with Hillivan's revolver.

"Call 'em as I see 'em. Don't look like much, maybe some rich kid who had daddy pay for her safety... or Boss now goes for arm candy?" He looked at Kristaan with open, inquiring eyes. Looking at her for her answer.

Kristaan's answer was to very calmly but very deliberately look the man in his eyes, voice laced with sugary acid.

"I'd choose to castrate Hillivan before becoming his damn arm candy. My father never deigned to spend a cent on me other than what was necessary. I'm here," she motioned to the camp beyond the low gap in the 'walls'.

"Because I worked hard for it. Call me a broad again and I don't care what Hillivan says, I'll shoot your fucking dick off. Now. Tell me. Where is your most intact piece of... I believe the term is 'floaty bits'?" You could have driven a carrier safely across the rooms tension with it snapping.

The man's eyes were large and round and hurt. He gave a blink and they went back to open sincerity.

"You work with gravshift tech? Over there. Most is useless but two have only minor damage... didn't catch your name, miss." Kristaan faltered.

'What?' Again, one of Hillivan's crew seemed to read her mind.

"Graan can put a knife in your throat and still look like you kicked his cat-owl. His language is... kinda rough but he means nothing by it... unless you intimidated." Zoltan chuckled.

"But I think he saw his life flash before his eyes... don't pull a gun out on someone in camp unless you want a round between your eyes..." he motioned to random crew sitting around on their tanks or on the mezzanine just below the roof of the repair bay, casually toting scoped rifles and very uncasually glaring at her.

"My name is Kristaan, Graan, its... uh, it is a pleasure to meet you?" He gave her a look over his shoulder and his chins followed.

"You hang around the shop and work with float tech, I ain't got no trouble with that. Fuckers that come in here high an' mighty like, with their degrees and shit, thinking they Sajuuk's hairy balls... fuck ups never last. But you... you got grease monkey hands. And balls. Big ones. I like that."

They moves to the back, between the repairing LAV, and the skeleton of the new LAV, where there was a long table that could fold away. It was filled with tech. Heaps of it. Little mountains of capacitors, powerflow actuators, field manifolds and power distributors. There where some still in their casings, all the access panels open to reveal a black, charred mess inside.

She just stood for a moment and took it all in. Sure enough, two Assault craft projectors where put off to the side relatively intact, one with its capacitor and manifold one twisted mess, and the other with a mangled round buried in the tangle of pipes and wires of the distribution matrix. She spotted some intact varients on the table. A long, arduous repair job, but a simple one at least. If either had some major projector damage, it'd be hell to fix. But... she needed a test bed.

"You got a commander chair, an ammunition fabricator, some struts and a need for speed?" She eyed what she assumed was the chief grease monkey. She can see the internal grin behind those childlike eyes full of wonder.

-0-

"Donnaan! You like like you want to kill Iizen again. What did he do now?" Hillivan greeted the murderous looking man with savage blue eyes and short, spiky hair. The man was standing just next to the doorway on the bridge of the support cruiser. It had a few figures haphazardly scattered around a few consoles. Donnaan jumped.

"Sajuuk damn it. Commander! Fuck... don't do that. I swear one day one of us are gonna shoot you." He placed a hand on his chest and the other away from his sidearm he instinctively reached for.

Hillivan just gave an all-knowing smile, eyes dancing with mirth.

"Nothing much. Just the usual arguments... the ol' man had a hissy fit while you where gone. Someone from Crowbar was doing double shifts, and we had two patrols out at once. Apparently back in the day men followed orders." Donnaan rolled his shoulders and looked out the vast reinforced plexiglass viewports at the dune ahead of them and the blue-white sky above.

Hillivan gave a sage nod. The caught the look.

"Haven't you got a flight in an hour?" Hillivan asked, then looked around the bridge. No one had noticed him yet.

"Yessir. We got a long patrol that'll take us southwest until almost Rockfell point." Hillivan gave small wan smile.

"How about you wheels up an hour earlier and do a favour for me and see whats a bit further out. Don't take chances though, but you look like you need it..." and instead of the dopey smile and enthusiasm expected, he got a subdued nod and a smile that was more pity than happiness.

'Strange.' Hillivan filed it away to ponder on later.

Hillivan turned and snuck into the captain's seat.

He just took a moment to sag down and enjoy a moment of respite. He was home. Amoungst friends and family away from the balls-to-the-wall fighting of the front. He sat there with his head leaning against his left fist, propped up on an armrest.

"Where's the captain?" He suddenly asked, voice light and teasing. The deck stiffened. And Hillivan knew he wasn't that ominous... his mind raced. One of the officers, comms, gave him an unreadable look.

"She's in the mess, sir. Welcome back, by the way. Need to get this, sir." The comms officer, a petite and pretty little thing, turned back to her console, hands fluttering and callsigns passing lips freely and Hillivan felt trepidation crawl somewhere deep inside his spine. Donnaan's look fresh in his mind, the atmosphere became laughably easy to read.

Anger.

Loss.

Sadness and something else tangibly dancing on despair but not quite.

Hillivan got up and stalked out without another word. Mieklik would fill him in. Or the old man.

The mess was a large but ultimately compact affair. The aircons whined and the hum of the powercell sat somewhere in your lower stomach. The food was bland in a disproportionate ratio to the cheeriness of the quartermasters and/or chef

Mieklik's white captains cap was as easy as always to spot. He got a plethora of 'morning sir's and 'commander's from passing deck hands and other crews not in their own tanks.

She was eating something, not entirely identifiable, and glaring angrily at a datapad. Hillivan sat with feline grace. She looked up, choked, coughed and swore with a single breath.

"Commander! When did you get back?" Hillivan dropped all the pleasantries like a hot stone.

"What happened?" Hillivan sounded resigned. Mieklik blanched underneath her cap. She put down her spork, and did a defeated motion on her datapad. After a handful of seconds and tense silence, the captain of the support cruiser pushed the pad across the table.

"Those reinforcements we where keeping tabs on? They weren't harassment. Base Omega fell about two hours ago." And Hillivan's world just dropped. Like taking a step up a dune and reaching the crest, unknowingly stepping into the void. Like that moment of waiting for the AAV to hit the deck again. Like looking at a datapad telling you that a base you left that morning was now a series of smoking craters in the hot expanse of Kharak.

'This isn't fair.' It was an ultimately useless thought but it was thought anyway. Hillivan just stared blankly at the well-done report telling him that the Fiiskire, Base Omega and its garrison where currently destroyed, overrun and a mixture of dead or POWs. And that he'd missed the entire thing by three quarters of an hour and sixty degrees of bearing. That made him angry. Helplessly angry at how he was riding off into the sunrise and there was Darraki-

'Oh Sajuuk. Darraki.' Hillivan slumped and Mieklik gave a small understanding nod.

"The Admiral is unaccounted for. She could easily be leading the survivors rearguard action, or be sitting in a pow camp." The 'or dead' was there, grinning broadly at Hillivan.

"I see. I want a meet at sundown. I'll talk to the 'Martins." Hillivan knew they'd be just as beat up as him over not being able to help. And Kristaan would be...

'Oh shit this is going to be a nightmare.' How was he meant to tell the 'Martins that Kristaan was part of all that... Hillivan sat and thought, mind churning in free fall.

"Commander, I know its not much... but I know you'll pull us through." Mieklik got up and marched away, tray in hand.

He clicked on his handheld radio.

"Konran?" There was a burst of faint static and then the man answered with a nervous 'Yessir?'

'Wonder were the man is, right now.'

"Thanks." And he clicked the radio off, sat back and brought his hands up to try and rub away his mood.

Dirnkik, fresh from the chop-shop and a quick talk to an obscenely happy Kristaan, sat in the seat Captain Mieklik had occupied and gave Hillivan a long, penetrative look.

He pushed the extra tray towards Hillivan.

"You need the fluids. Graan told me what happened. Wanna fill me in on the plan, boss?" Apparently it was the wrong thing to say because Hillivan just swore softly, then glared at Dirnkik. It faltered as Hillivan realised what he was doing and relented.

"No idea, Dirnkik. We need something to fall back on. We need an objective. We need to gather moral. Heck, I need moral." Dirnkik just took a sip of his canister of caati purple.

"We're equipped for a long, freelancing mission to around Howl's waterworks... Kharak was kind to us." Dirnkik continued, taking another chilled sip of the fine beverage.

Hillivan's gaze became distant.

"Whats that in kilos?" Dirnkik had to pause at that.

"Uhm, as the LAV flies, fifteen maybe sixteen thousand?" Hillivan nodded slowly and Dirnkik had long ago realised when his boss was thinking of a hairbrain scheme that would save everyone's hide.

"Should I alert Kristaan to the... developments, sir?" Hillivan looked at him absently before giving a faint 'no'.

"I think I'll do that myself."

-0-

Hillivan isn't sure of the feeling sitting in his chest as he watches their... Guest? Prisoner? Crewmember? work intently in the 'Martins repair shop. There's a happy, but strangely stern and concentrated pout to her lips and her hair looks criminally soft in the artificial light.

Its a tight, roiling feeling that makes him feel dirty and useless. He prided himself for his mental dexterity and astute nature but this... he didn't want to figure out.

No one should need to.

"Kristaan." And she jumps, startled. He'd been standing almost directly next to her for well over five minutes.

"Don't do that! What if I was to have had a solder, or grinder or... any manner of repair equipment that could have been used to inflict messy, bloody damage to your-" she puts away the torque-wrench while complaining in her polite, ever-so-formal way of speaking before turning to him and paused.

"-well dressed self." She finished lamely as she eyed his uniform. Hillivan had shaved, showered and shiny'ed up, as Zoltan always said.

'Girls and High command love it when a man does the three Shzzes for them

.' And Zoltan made a point of never doing any of them. At least, for high command at any rate.

"You clean up well, sir." She loked up at him from where he was standing.

'Damn her. Damn her for...' he wasn't sure what.

"Kristaan." And the mirth and teasing lilt to her eyes dissappeared at the tone.

-0-

The Desertmartins, in all their tan, scruffy and rowdy glory are standing room only in the mess hall of the Frostbite, and Hillivan could never feel more paternal if he had a midget yapping at his ankles.

He's also anxious and somewhat lost, like a ship that drifted out with the shifting sands and hadn't realised. His crew are right there in the front, looking for all the world like they're watching a crash in motion.

'It feels like it. Sajuuk, but it does.'

But Hillivan grits his teeth, tastes the caustic, acidic feeling settling on his tounge and holds his hand up for silence. The crowd falls quiet and Hillivan was sure he'd been thinking of what he wanted to say earlier.

"Men. I... I stand here wirh some bitter news. More than what I expect you to take in good grace but I ask yiu do none the less." He swallows, voice filled with confidence from some ethereal dimension and the room hanging on his words.

"At six fourty two this morning, Base Omega came under a full scale Gaalsien attack of at least carrier group strength. At eight twenty, we received the last active transmission from them. It it presumed overrun." There was a tense, angry silence. A few barely heard mutters.

"Before it was attacked, we received our orders, and a further objective. Now I know you all want to go back and show the floats some real fighting, I do too, but I ask you to listen... The forces in this area are completely unawares, as usual, to our presence. This is, as bleak as it sounds, the perfect opportunity to attack, to cut them deep and watch them bleed." There are a few agreeable growls and there is a fire burning in the men's eyes.

"Before we left, we where to hit the depots, cause havoc as the Fiiskire pushed down in the gap. The carrier is confirmed destroyed. So. We do this instead..." Hillivan steps to the side and flinty gazes scrutinise the map that appears.

"We head Southeast, cut West at Diff ridge, and hit our first target." The much vaunted satellite images as well as standard reconnaissance photos appear revealing sand trap walls and a buult up camp in a dune sea.

"This is believed to be the floats main supply depot for their three main staging areas. After their attack it's grossly under manned and open. We'll be hitting heavy RU deposits, ammo and some air reserves. This is stage one of a three phase suicide mission that ends deep inside enemy territory. It will hit them hard. This will put them back weeks if we hit the surrounding staging areas as well." The atmosphere fizzled with tension.

"Questions?" Hillivan looked around.

"Is this effective immediate, sir?" A man asked, hair patched with a jagged scar on his chin.

"No, we'll be keeping to our schedule."

"And the other carriers, sir?"

"Unavailable until proven otherwise." This cause a few grumbled curses

"And the backup we where promised?" Hillivan gave a dour look at the crowd.

"As far as I know, those assets are available. Just the main defensive lines where attacked." A few men relaxed if only slightly. There was a pause as Hillivan waited the nodded.

"Any other information you all need will be relayed to your vehicles. Now... topic two." Kristaan, at the head of the crowd, had swallowed cryogenic fluid. She watched Hillivan look around with something bordering on compassionate and dabbling in fierce.

"I know my choices are... odd, and orders even more so, but I hope you've managed to see the sense in hindsight. Donnaan, like the time I forbid flying near the drumsand. Or Telikon, that time when I ordered your wing to disengage the skimmers back at Poplar city... it may seem strange, it may not make sense, but it will help. Us. The choices I make is to try make sure we all make it back..."

"Oh Sajuuk's hairy balls Hillivan. Don't be so dramatic." The crowd laughed and Hillivan glared at the disembodied voice, the mood lightened somewhat. He finally relented with a smile.

"Kristaan?" She froze. Hillivan motioned for her to stand besides him where all could see. It was horribly exposed. She got up and there was a lone cat call from somewhere. She bristled but kept her expression guarded and pessimistically hopeful.

"Kristaan, I'd like to introduce you to the Desertmartins, scruffiest fighting force north of the south pole." A few outraged cries. Hillivan leaned in and whispered into Kristaan's ear.

"Sorry 'bout this." Her gut twisted, and panic clawed its merry way up her spine...

"Desertmartins, our new cultural expert as well our Gravshift technician, Kristaan Gaalsien'Sa'Ka."

* * *

A/N: Evil cliffie is evil. This grew and grew until I just gave up and typed. I like big updates anyway. Leave a review if you enjoyed or to tell me to to take a long walk off a short pier... or found grammer/syntax issues.

Glossary: wildlife.

Monkey - small furry animal that lives near the poles analogous to our shrew or mouse. Not a four limbed tree dweller. (What are Kushan trees anyway?) Small biological quirk allows them to imbib and process hydrocarbons out of engine grease and low grade fossil fuels. Commonly found in engines and transmissions of any vehicle. Mechanic.

Sandviper - Large desert reptile. Think cross between a sidewinder, anaconda and gaboon viper. Sidewinder in habit and color, anaconda in size and gaboon viper in head and mouth shape. Extremely dangerous. Buries itself in sand until only the eyes and sensory pits poke above the sand, coiled to strike at passing prey.

Sandrat - Like common earth rats, but more... "OMFG WTF IS THAT!?" in size. Averages the size of a great dane, and absolutely terrified of its Kushan neighbours. This leads to some confusion because neither can decide who is more terrified.

Caati plant - succulent plant (anything but succulent) that comes in four distinct subspecies, spotted, brown, purple and red. It can be distilled, fermented, juiced and dried. Each leading to a peculiar effect. Each has a different effect based on species and process. Fermented Purple leads to an energy drink like a cross between Monster and Redbull. Without the snazzy catchphrases. People tend to have to be scraped off of ceilings if one is unprepared.

* * *

Ever hopeful

E.W.


End file.
